


Flour Power

by CharlieNozaki



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Comfort, Friendship, Gen, High School, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Relationship, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieNozaki/pseuds/CharlieNozaki
Summary: The mosshead is my shitty partner. We have a kid, as of yesterday. But now that kid is missing. I wonder whose fault it is?[High School AU. ZoSan(ish). Includes artwork].
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks & Dracule Mihawk, Roronoa Zoro & Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 25
Kudos: 119





	Flour Power

**Author's Note:**

> Here's something a little different from my usual. I wrote this a few months ago to be part of a collab series with [ ashkore_varg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkore_varg/pseuds/ashkore_varg/works), all about subverting common fanfic cliches/tropes. Currently, that project is on hiatus, but I wanted to post this anyway. I desperately need motivation to work on my other WIPs. This year is kicking my ass! (x__x) Anyway, enjoy!

The room was dark, solemn really, as I entered, long shadows falling over antique furniture from the tall candles flickering on the mahogany mantle. At least it was probably mahogany. Whatever it was, it was polished to fuck, and housed nothing but that row of golden candelabras. No family photos here.

Well, unless you counted the huge-ass oil paintings hanging on the wall above in gilded frames, their subjects dressed formally, posing with serious stares. Depictions of torture, as Zoro put it. His dad had made them sit for hours on end when he’d had them commissioned, apparently…

But I digress…

The candles were the only source of light, glowing spots of orange surrounded by grayscale, those heavy blood-red curtains drawn over the windows as usual.

What had I expected, a bright and cheerful scene? ‘Course not. This was the Dracule house, after all. A mile south of Purgatory and just around the corner from Hell itself. Any hint of sunshine disappeared every time I stepped through that front door.

My fingers itched for a non-existent cigarette to go with the grim atmosphere, longing for the day I could legally buy them myself. Stealing from Patty’s stash in the Baratie changing room wasn’t my best option.

 _Two years….two more years,_ I told myself, but that was beside the point.

I was there for a reason that day. I was there for answers that may very well have resided within one of the suspects seated before me on the long claw-footed couch. The very subjects of the paintings on the opposite wall, and a perfect mirror of their stoicism at that.

In the center sat two middle-aged men, one with a shaggy mess of longer red hair, three mysterious scars dragging down over his left eye, a leg crossed far too casually over the other as he leaned back comfortably.

Mr. Shanks, Zoro’s birth dad and giver of zero fucks, particularly when he threw his right arm over the dark-haired man’s shoulders beside him, despite the death glare the latter seemed determined to throw at everything in the room.

I flicked my eyes to that second man, who sat, rigid and still as a marble statue, half his expression and sharp facial hair hidden behind the glass of wine that seemed to be perpetually glued to his lips. At least it was every time I visited that house, along with a slew of jeweled rings decorating his fingers. Hard to tell which was his wedding ring at that point.

Mr. Dracule, or “Sir,” as he’d told me to call him, and if that name wasn’t accurate as hell. I never believed vampires and shit existed until I met that man. I’d honestly thought he was dressed for some historical reenactment or some shit, but no, ruffled collars and dramatic cloaks were just his style, I guess.

I mean, I definitely appreciate high fashion too, trust me. Just weird considering his husband favored slovenly T-shirts and flip-flops. Kind of like his son. But I guess opposites attract.

Anyway, Mr. Dracule’s golden eyes lifted to me, as piercing as a blade. Which is ironic, considering…. Ah, forget it, that’s a story for another day.

I was there for a _reason,_ remember? Don’t let me get off track.

I stood my ground, tried not to be intimidated as I said, in my best commanding voice, “I’m sure you all know, by now, why I’ve gathered you he—”

“Mr. Vinsmoke, voice your questions quickly, boy. There are places all of us would rather be.”

Damn. Cut off immediately by Mr. Dracule. Should have seen that coming, but I couldn’t stop my mouth from gaping like a fish for a few seconds.

I mean, obviously. Of course there were places we’d rather be. Myself included, especially on a fucking Saturday, and though the urge was within me to say some shit back, I held my tongue, particularly when the girl seated beside him piped up in agreement.

“I had nothing to do with this, okay? So can I go?”

Perona, eldest daughter. A sophisticated senior at our high school. Gorgeous, edgy. All pink curls and gothic fashion. Attractive enough to never be found guilty of _anything,_ so I hastily nodded.

“O-Of course, Perona, silly me! I’m—sorry I even asked you to join them—” I stammered because how stupid was I for disturbing her afternoon.

“Sheesh,” Perona’s sweet, dulcet tones muttered to herself as she stood and flounced from the room, tossing her luscious ringlets over her shoulder with a pout. “Why would _I_ take it… It wasn’t even cute!”

And though my gaze followed her, I felt my face heat when I could _sense_ a particular set of eyes glare at me hard, with perhaps more intensity than his father’s. Followed by a ridiculous, gravelly voice that had no business coming out of a sixteen-year-old’s mouth.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it either. Let me go too.”

Dammit, I could feel my carefully concocted, serious investigation unraveling as quickly as my nerves when I whipped my head to glare right back at the owner of that dumb voice.

 _“You_ told me to come over and help you look! We’ve gotta start somewhere!” I hissed at the final suspect, draped over the armrest of the couch with his stupid chin cemented to his baseball mitt of a hand, looking as if this wasn’t all his fault to begin with.

“Well, don’t start with me!” he grumbled back like the idiot he was.

Why the hell _wouldn’t_ I start with the number one suspect? The green-haired, punk-ass moron who I had the absolute baffling misfortune of being best friends with. The one who’d texted me that very morning with the news, dragged me all the way over to his house on a _Saturday,_ not for _fun_ but to join him on some fruitless search.

More like conduct the search _myself_ when I had the _least_ to do with any of this, save for the apparently foolish decision of leaving him and his irresponsible ass with such precious cargo for the weekend.

“Of course I’ll start with you, _Zoro!”_ I screeched back, my rising anger beating out any unease Zoro’s creepy dad could cast over me. I stomped the hell over to kick at that dumb mosshead’s shin. “Our daughter goes _missing_ on _your_ watch and—!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whozit what now?”

Mr. Shanks suddenly cut in, the man’s single arm slipping from his husband’s shoulders as he sat forward.

Yeah, I said single arm. Dude’s missing one. Is that a necessary detail? No, but he still managed to look cooler than _Zoro_ ever did with the two lumpy sausage links he had attached to his shoulders.

“Daughter?” Mr. Shanks asked again, an eager look coming to his face, and dammit, the guy better not have been getting _excited_ over grandkids or some shit, because she was probably _sliced in half_ and _dead_ at that point!

“Yes,” I growled, not taking my glare from Zoro’s caveman features. “Her name is—”

“Sack of shit.” Zoro finished my sentence.

And that was _it._

I launched for the bastard, ready to roundhouse kick his brains out.

...

Alright, look, y’know what? This is probably confusing. Lemme start from the beginning.

* * *

**_The shitty day before…_ **

* * *

“For the next two weeks, you’re all going to fly into adulthood _real_ fast because, congrats, you’re now the proud parents of these kids.”

‘These’ being the long row of flour sacks lined up on the teacher’s work table at the front of the classroom.

And _those_ were the words that started this whole thing. Straight out of Ms. Laki’s mouth in home ec class, sixth period on Friday, the exact moment I died inside.

I mean, I was constantly dying in her class, because look, this lady was gorgeous. Fresh out of college, beautiful dark hair and sharp features. Like a warrior angel from above who could _cook,_ almost as well as my old man. And I’m serious, she was as hot as—

Zoro, that idiot, suddenly raised his hand out of nowhere from the row in front of me, Ms. Laki having assigned him to a table at the front of the room to ensure a better chance of him paying attention. Admirable effort, but unfortunately pointless when dealing with an imbecile like him.

Why was he awake? Why was he even in my same home ec class to begin with? All good questions that I had no answer to and still don’t.

“What if we don’t want kids,” he said without waiting for her to call on him because why would anyone respect the prettiest teacher in the school when they could just shout random shit out whenever they felt like it?

Honestly, this guy…

I sat there hoping some lightning god would strike him down.

Ms. Laki’s gaze shifted to the mosshead, not a hint of amusement on her features as she leaned her delicate hands on the table in front of her.

“Then pretend it’s a dog,” she responded, easily combating Zoro’s stupidity because—warrior angel, remember? “And if you don’t want a dog, pretend it’s your graduation credits. You’ll want to take good care of those, I’m sure.”

I couldn’t help it. I snorted _really_ loud at that, but I didn’t care. I’d half done it on purpose anyway, in hopes the mosshead would hear it, and I made sure my grin was extra malicious by the time the idiot turned around to glare at me.

Seemed he wasn’t done yet though because, next thing I knew, he was asking, “Do we get to pick our partners?”

No one else in the room batted an eye at the lug’s antics, unfortunately. Maybe they were all wondering the same thing, and okay, I kind of was too, but I’m sure Ms. Laki would have _told_ us if he’d waited patiently.

Zoro’s words only egged on the other heathens in the room though, some of whom started begging pathetically as if this was a real marriage situation they were getting into.

Ms. Laki merely rolled her eyes in response. Beautiful _and_ headstrong. I’m telling you. Perfection.

“This project is about responsibility and teamwork,” she said, clearly exasperated with the fools she’d been saddled with.

Her eyes landed on me for a split second as she scanned the room. I’m sure she was wishing I was her only student right about then. I _am_ the best cook in the class, after all.

She moved then, stepping out from behind the work table to cross to her desk near the windows, finally affording us a better view of that cute purple skirt she was wearing, her long ponytail skimming the waistband.

Maybe she was secretly a model… I wouldn’t have been surprised.

She grabbed a clipboard and pen, then walked back to the center of the room, her shoes clicking pleasantly on the tiled floor, but the sound only seemed to build up the anticipation and downright _hope_ everyone had for her answer.

If we could choose, you could bet I’d be jumping right in to work with Vivi, the pretty new girl sitting by the door, Nami’s friend, who seemed so sweet and regal, a mysterious princess from a faraway land come to rule over our school with a graceful touch. I would have loved nothing more than to be her subject, or rather, her partner, raising our precious royal baby together.

Thus, I summoned my own regal countenance, if I was to be worthy of her, and waited with bated breath for Ms. Laki’s verdict.

“Yes, I am, for better or worse, willing to let you choose your partners,” she finally said, breaking the quiet tension in the room enough to have most of the class wilt in relief. “Provided you can all choose civilly without leaving anyone out, I’ll give you five minutes to sign up here.”

She set down the clipboard and swiveled it towards us.

Naturally, there were excitedly hasty assurances that of _course_ we were capable of such a task, but I was hardly concerned with that.

I could choose!

If not Vivi, maybe Keimi, the girl in the pink leggings sitting beside her.

She was attractive and funny, had deep brown eyes, a great smile, and hair of a unique seafoam color. Surely a perfect partner—

What happened next happened fast.

I found a meaty finger pointed directly at my face, causing my heart to jump and a complete fluttering _dread_ to fill my chest when the finger’s green-haired owner announced, “Him. I pick him.”

 _“What?!”_ I shrieked immediately.

Ms. Laki lifted up the clipboard and waved it pointedly, no longer even paying him any mind.

“Curly, go sign us up.”

The madness fucking continued!

“Don’t decide shi—stuff for us!” I yelped, just barely catching myself before I cursed. The last thing I wanted was to get sent to Principal Sakazuki’s office, even if I would have gladly thrown myself under Ms. Laki’s punishing hand. He’d burned Ace something fierce last year, for talking back in class, and that was _not_ something I’d be reenacting.

My eyes darted frantically around the room, but I was horrified to see every girl already pairing up! In fact, _everyone_ was pairing up! Fuck, was there no one else?

My desert princess—taken!

My seafoam siren—betrothed to another!

My fiery Nami—not even in this class, but her adorable face burst through my mind nonetheless!

And myself stuck with the moldy goblin of my nightmares who’d practically _proposed_ in his own barbaric way!

I wasn’t ready for this! This wasn’t how I’d pictured my life to go, processing down the aisle of the classroom, woefully clutching my chest, the floral pattern of my shirt its own crumpled bouquet because it _pained_ me—it _really_ did—to put our names to that document, that sign-up sheet that sealed our fate until death did us part.

I don’t know why I did it. Perhaps it was the promise of divorce as soon as the project ended. Perhaps it was the very pathetic prospect of _not_ having a partner otherwise. Of living a lonely two weeks struggling to care for a child. Hell if I wanted to be a single parent. My grandpa did not make it look fun sometimes.

I don’t know why I accepted his proposal, but there I was that afternoon, having driven us in my grandpa’s old sedan he let me use for school, arriving at Zoro’s house as if I was moving in, though why I would move into the haunted mansion on the hill is anyone’s guess.

I wasn’t _moving in_ anyway. I was just going over for a bit to make sure the mosshead had everything situated with the baby. I had a shift at my grandpa’s restaurant that evening, and our flour daughter (because yes, she was a daughter) would certainly not fare well in a kitchen, I can tell you that much.

Zoro stomped along behind me, slamming his car door shut loudly, slipping through the squeaky wrought iron gate to clomp his dirty boots up the flagstones, our daughter shoved unceremoniously under his stinky armpit.

“This is so stupid!” I heard him squawk, and I glanced over my shoulder to roll my eyes at him, but also to make sure he was still following. He could honestly get lost in the overgrown jungle of weeds that was his front yard.

“Shut up! This was your idea!” I shot back, hoisting my school bag up a bit as I neared the rickety porch. His house was seriously ancient. I always worried the whole thing would crumble into a black hole one day with one wrong step.

It might have anyway…. Who knew what the fuck portals Mr. Dracule opened up in his “office”...

“I picked you ‘cause I didn’t want to do it with anyone else in the class!” Zoro justified, as if that made it any better. And maybe it did, to be honest, but only the tiniest, most marginal bit. To think the idiot thought I was worth _something._

Still, I wasn’t about to let that glimmer of self-pride, small as it was, show, so I was quick to reply, “Well, did you stop and think that maybe I didn’t want to do it with you?”

Why would I want to? Zoro was about as gentle as a rampaging gorilla, leaf-throwing, shit-tossing and all.

“You didn’t say no!” he grunted, solidifying my point.

“Not saying no does not equal consent, Zoro!” What year was this? Shouldn’t he have known this? Did this archaic house turn back the clock of his etiquette too? Besides, look what he’d done! “And now we have a daughter!”

“I said I don’t want kids!” he growled, just before his hands lifted up our precious progeny high over his head as he sidestepped a black cat that slunk out from the shadowy bushes and scampered up to the porch, meowing obnoxiously at the door. Hell if I knew which cat it was. The Dracules had three, but they were all identical and fuck if I could tell them apart.

“Well, too late!” I snapped. “Dammit, hold her _properly.”_

I fucking had to wrench his arms down to his sides again, even though the oaf was far too preoccupied with glaring at the little cat that seemed quite content to hiss and bat angrily at his ugly combat boot as he approached.

I could certainly relate to that. So I bent to scoop up the “demon” that Zoro so eloquently called it, the cute thing settling comfortably into my arms, purring up a storm as it cuddled into my chest.

“Like this,” I said pointedly, cradling the cat, satisfied when Zoro rolled his eyes. The cat had every right to hate Zoro and love me, thank you very much.

Instead of mimicking my oh-so-nurturing hold, however, he fucking took our daughter, drew back his arm, and tried to shot-put her off into oblivion, dammit!

How I managed to keep hold of the cat _and_ rescue our daughter was clearly a testament to my superior strength.

And by the time we’d made our way into the house and down the dark entrance hallway, I was quite smugly carrying both the cat and our daughter with ease.

Still, Zoro found the nerve to voice a sarcastic, “Careful, bet it’s real heavy! Don’t break your twig arms!”

“Shut the fuck up~!” I sang back at him as pleasantly as I could, because now we were in his parents’ realm, and I did not want to leave a bad impression, no matter how much they creeped me out.

There was a weirdly….intriguing (yeah, I guess that was the word) grin on Zoro’s face when he pushed past me.

And I mean _pushed._ The neanderthal really could not control his meat slab of a body at all.

But I suppose I didn’t mind that much because I could probably count on one hand the times I’d seen Zoro genuinely smile at _me._ Each time felt like some sort of strange victory, so I let his lumbering assault slide that time.

“Dad, I’m home! Curly’s here too!” he called out, and I tried to focus on Zoro’s voice and the still-purring angel in my arms instead of the surroundings.

Honestly, it was pretty obvious Mr. Dracule had decorated the place, nothing but claustrophobic walls that seemed to shut out the light and pull in a feeling of dread, flickering candles, and—shit, was that a suit of armor in the corner? That was new…

There was no answer to Zoro’s call, only the sound of the creaking floorboards under our feet, and I nearly jumped out of my fucking _skin_ when a giant-ass _spider_ skittered by my leg—okay, no, that was just another cat, but there probably _were_ spiders lurking around for all I knew.

I swallowed hard, willed some stability to my voice.

“He not home or something?” I asked, just to hear myself in the dead quiet as we neared the wooden door at the end of the hallway.

“Nah, he is. My other dad’s still at work though,” Zoro answered casually, clearly not perturbed at all by the enormous taxidermied bear head snarling menacingly over the doorway. Its dull glass eyes stared us down with a vengeance.

How he sensed his father’s presence in this hellhole was almost as freaky as the howling wind I could have _sworn_ had started up outside. Hadn’t it been perfectly sunny out there before we’d entered?

The mosshead pushed open the door and stepped right on through to what I knew was the kitchen, perhaps the _only_ kitchen in the world that didn’t comfort me in the slightest.

“Well, look. I can’t stay long,” I replied, moving instantly towards the sink and the only window (and therefore, _light)_ in the room. And it wasn’t ‘cause I was _scared,_ dammit! “I gotta be at Baratie for my shift soon. But I wanna get things established first.”

“What do you mean?” Zoro asked, throwing off his backpack and dropping it on the floor unceremoniously before he plopped his ass down on one of the iron stools by the kitchen island.

I squeezed the sweet cat in my arms for another moment, couldn’t help a few kisses to that soft head before I released her, her black form almost dematerializing before my eyes as she disappeared into the shadows once more.

I shook off a shudder at whatever could be lurking there, instead moving over to place our daughter in front of Zoro on the wooden countertop, which honestly resembled a medieval dungeon rack more than anything. Then I set my own bag down on the counter as well and took the liberty of heading over to the fridge. Maybe this was Zoro’s house, but any kitchen was my territory.

I only knew the tall vaulted chest against the wall was the fridge because I’d seen Mr. Shanks rummaging in it one day a few weeks before. He’d come out with an armful of beers, and I’d marveled that there was apparently electricity running through the place after all.

“Obviously we need a name, for starters,” I muttered, turning the metal handle and opening the fridge door, the light inside casting horrible shadows over mysterious jars and lumps of packaged meat that looked far too red and fresh.

My eyes zeroed in on the first normal thing that I could feasibly prepare in a short amount of time.

“Can I make a cheese platter?” I asked, eyeing the eclectic assortment resting on the bottom shelf.

I basically heard Zoro’s shrug rather than saw it, and I was already gathering ingredients before he answered.

“Go for it,” he mumbled. “And a name for what?”

Had he really forgotten already?

“For the baby, idiot!” I hissed, pulling out various cheese blocks that looked edible, giving a sniff to others.

Yes to the gouda.... Didn’t trust the pepper jack…. Why the hell were they storing brie cold?

“Who says we gotta name it?”

This idiot…

 _“I_ say we gotta name it!” I snipped. “Also it’s on the rubric! Do you want a good grade or not? And besides, she’s our _child._ We need to connect with her and humanize her.”

“She’s not real!” he shot back, still one-hundred percent insufferable, as if said child wasn’t sitting directly in front of him, as real as his idiocy!

“Besides,” he jabbered on. (Would he ever stop bitching?) “If this _was_ real, and you got pregnant and a thing of flour came out of you, I’d sell you both off to the circus! I mean, you’re a cook so I can totally see that happening…”

He snickered _so_ damn obnoxiously at his barely decipherable joke that I kicked that fridge door shut hard enough to rattle the walls.

 _“Zoro!”_ I screeched, my arms full of cheese and meats—

But as soon as the door swung shut, a tall, ghastly figure seemed to manifest from behind it, looming over me like fucking Satan himself.

And let me tell you, I jumped to fucking Hell and back to pay him a visit with an embarrassing yelp when my eyes locked onto the cold, golden stare of Mr. Dracule.

The man (was he seriously a human man?) silently reached out, long fingers plucking up a block of cheese from the top of my stack.

“Not the provolone,” he said smoothly, and then he was gone, pretty much as soon as I next blinked, taking the cheese and the oxygen in the room with him.

I stood there in damn shock for a second, my heartbeat and breaths shuddering uncomfortably in the silence that followed before I found the strength to screech, “Ugh, can he not do that?”

I tried to sound indignant, but it didn’t quite work.

Zoro, ever the helpful brute, just shrugged.

I groaned again, just for the hell of it, but ultimately decided I was better off just preparing the damn food, so I set to work searching through cave-like cabinets and rummaging through the depths of various drawers for dishes and cutlery. It was a fucking wonder I didn’t lose a finger to the creatures no doubt lurking inside.

Soon, I was in my element though, mindlessly but expertly (I knew what I was doing, after all) slicing up the cheese and meat, arranging it artfully on a wooden cutting board I’d found that _better_ not have been a beheading block in the last century or some shit. I even went back for some grapes and olives too.

I could do this shit in my sleep, so I quickly found my attention wandering to the mossball at the counter, who’d dropped his head onto the surface and slumped there, eyeing my work with clear impatience. It was like the longer I took, the more of his energy depleted.

I slowed my hand and took my damn time.

“Turn her this way for a second,” I eventually said, because my gaze had shifted to our daughter, still sitting innocently in front of him.

Zoro grunted like a baboon in response, giving me the strong urge to flick the side of his head, but he eventually sat up to swivel her boxy form towards me.

Finally, I could see her beautiful face properly. Those big blue eyes, cute button nose, and adorable toothless smile I’d drawn on a piece of paper that I’d meticulously taped over the label previously slapped across her face. I ignored the devil horns, disgusting bloody scars, and tattoos that Zoro had crudely scribbled on as well.

Who would she grow up to be? Surely puberty would be a piece of cake for her. She’d turn into a sweet, colorful, classy confectionery who would gladly choke men like Zoro any day. I didn’t care if she was self-raising. I would be the best damn baker—I mean, _father_ —that I could be.

And the first step on that journey was giving her a sophisticated name.

“Camille,” I finally said with a satisfied nod before going back to my cutting. That was it. I’d decided.

“What?” Zoro mumbled, unsurprisingly.

“That’s her name,” I replied, fanning out some nice wedges on the platter. “Write it on the project packet.”

“That’s a dumb name,” he said, once again predictable as hell.

Still, obedient, I had to say, as he soon disappeared beneath the counter, reappearing a minute later (after far too long rummaging….what, did he get lost in his backpack?) with the now severely wrinkled packet Ms. Laki had given us in class.

“Better than anything you could come up with,” I insisted, tossing a piece of cheese at his head.

He dove for it mouth-first like a shark leaping for a seal, jaw gaping, and he actually caught it too.

I was impressed for a second, but then he choked on it.

I had to laugh.

“Anything’s—better than fucking— _Camille,”_ he sputtered, trying (and failing considering he was still busy coughing and thumping at his chest) to make some dumb falsetto voice.

“Don’t swear in front of her!” I snipped, pleased to at least see him pulling out a pen.

I had to slap his wrist when he immediately scribbled the thing _hard_ on the upper margin of the paper to make ink appear. Stupid, considering it _had ink to begin with!_

The heathen coughed obnoxiously in my direction before finally settling down.

“How the hell do you even spell that?” he muttered, and I rolled my eyes.

“C-A-M-I-L-L-E,” I drew out slowly to the five-year-old sitting in front of me.

He started to write, mumbling, “S-W-O-R-D,” as he wrote and you can _bet_ I swooped at that asshole with a damn _knife!_

He’d actually written “Camille” though when I checked, but I still threatened to gouge out his eye!

“Look,” I growled. “Like Ms. Laki told us, you’ve gotta fill out the log sheet every hour, okay? And get one of your dads to sign it. And don’t forget to take photos! We’ll need ‘em for the presentation.”

“Ugh, this is such a pain in the ass!” Zoro whined.

See? Five-year-old. Our darling Camille really was proving to be far more mature.

“We’ll trade off tomorrow,” I assured. “Surely you’re not weak enough to crumble before then.”

“It’s not weak if I just don’t wanna do it!”

As if that logic made any sense whatsoever.

I groaned loudly because there was just no other way to verbally express my _dismay_ at the situation.

“Vivi would have been the most attentive, doting mother,” I lamented, setting down the knife to wallow in my misery, images of her pretty smile just about the only thing keeping my heart beating in that moment. “We could have dressed little Camille up...taken her to the park...the perfect family.”

“Shut up! The two of you would raise the most annoying kid ever!” Zoro screeched, and when I spared him a glance, I was a bit taken aback to see some genuine anger brewing there.

A little rush of adrenaline shot through me at the snarl on his face. Seemed I’d struck a real nerve. ‘Bout time.

Did he really think he’d raise a better child than my desert princess?

I decided to push my luck, crooning out, “The _kindest, sweetest, smartest_ kid ever—” 

“And we’ve got the most _badass, powerful, strongest_ kid ever!” the mosshead shot back, picking up Camille and slamming her down onto the countertop pointedly.

Oh, so he _did_ think that.

I smacked his hands away before he could abuse our child any more.

“You hear that, Camille?” I said, reaching out to tickle our daughter’s lumpy cheek. “Listen to your daddy giving you compliments~”

I had to cackle when Zoro growled like a feral werewolf and shoved poor Camille towards me before flopping his chin onto his arms to pout.

It was honestly fun to rile the idiot up. For as mad as I could make him, it simmered real quick, meaning I could throw whatever I wanted at the dummy without worry of seriously offending him.

Still, I had to wonder why he’d set to burrowing his face in his crossed arms, like he meant to escape from the world, despite his strangely pink ears being as visible as a watermelon against the green rind of his hair.

I paused my work for a moment to watch him, just while he wasn’t looking. Maybe he planned on falling asleep like that, but his breathing said otherwise, still coming out in irregular huffs, like he was some dragon spouting steam.

My fingers itched to flick his head again, but, thankfully, my higher emotional intelligence stopped me, told me that maybe what he needed now was a more gentle, comforting touch…

What would he do if I ruffled his hair? Would it piss him off all over again? If it would, I might have to try it, just to see the reaction. Was his hair even soft, or would it feel like genuine seaweed? A prickly cactus?

Normally, I wouldn’t have hesitated, if it had been Chopper or Usopp...certainly Nami...slumped there looking miserable…. But Zoro was….Zoro.

I retracted my hand, a little freaked out to see it had already reached out for him of its own accord. Fuck, I bet his haunted house was possessing me or some shit…

Instead, I occupied my wandering hands with the food, finishing up my colorful composition on the plate (which he surely wouldn’t appreciate) and eventually sliding it towards him.

He did turn his head back towards me, his cheek on his arms squishing at his lips like a dumb fish. It was ridiculous enough to be a little cute….

Shit, he was _never_ allowed to know I’d thought that, even for a millisecond.

“Eat,” I said, digging in my back pocket for my phone to check the time, sighing when I saw a half hour had already flown by. My grandpa would dice me up if I was late.

“I gotta go,” I muttered, then jabbed a finger at Zoro’s face. “Don’t forget. Log sheet. Signature. Photos. And while you’re at it, send me the photos so I can keep an eye on shit. Do _not_ fuck this up, mosshead.”

Zoro had sat up from his sulking, if only to start shoveling cheese down his throat like a ravenous tiger. At that rate, every last piece would be vacuumed up within a minute. And as I figured, he didn’t even comment on the arrangement of the colors!

I glared at him as hard as I could until he noticed.

“Wha—?” he garbled out, mouth full of half-chewed food.

I resisted the nausea that rose within me at that horrible sight and threw my hand towards our child, sitting pleasantly as ever on the counter.

“Aren’t you gonna feed her too?” I asked, earning myself an instant scowl from the mosshead.

“Get out of my house, Curly!” he squawked, reaching for my shirt with the intent to grab a fistful of fabric, but I darted away easily. He’d been using that move on me far too much lately to take me by any sort of surprise anymore.

It had the first time… He’d never pushed his ugly face that close before… But anyway...

Snickering when he fumbled, I leaned in to kiss Camille on the top of her head, giving an affectionate pat for good measure.

“Papa has to go to work now as the sole provider for this family,” I told her. “You’ll have me to thank for your entire college education down the line. Now have fun with your daddy, and you have my permission to give him the hardest time possible~”

I fully expected a hand to finally grab me, and maybe I kind of _wanted_ to get Zoro worked up again, leave him frustrated as I skipped away, but when nothing happened, my grin fell a little when I glanced over at the idiot.

The weirdo was sitting there with a hand cupped to his ear, brow furrowed as he leaned towards Camille intently.

What the fuck was he doing…?

“You hear that?” he finally said, and I’m sure he could tell by the skeptical raise of my brow that I had no clue what the crazy mossball was on about.

He clarified though, ever so kindly.

“Her first words!” he exclaimed with the most mockingly excited tone. “She says, ‘Fuck you!’”

You can imagine how the rest went down.

I made sure to leave his dead body thrown over the kitchen counter before I waltzed my way out of there.

Surely a corpse would pose no threat to our daughter.

* * *

**_Back to the shitty present…_ **

* * *

And yet, she was missing.

She was missing after barely beginning to _live._ All the fault of the mossheaded imbecile plopped on the couch before me, surely.

Images of our poor, poor daughter wandering the streets at night burst through my mind, my darling accepting drug deals from devious vagabonds, growing up feral, raised by wolves in the jungles of some far-off land…..or worse!

Dammit, Camille was a _princess,_ thrown from her kingdom, who’d now come to resent her parents for giving her up when _one_ of them had never possessed that intention!

And there was Zoro, calling her a “sack of shit,” when he was certainly one himself.

“Our daughter!” I cried, feeling hysterics rising but unable to fucking push them down. Not when sweet Camille’s life was at stake. “About a foot tall, gorgeous blue eyes, cute curly blond ringlets, rosy cheeks—”

“She’s a sack of flour!” Zoro squawked again, throwing his head back to the ceiling, and could the idiot _shut up_ for one second?

I pounced on him, pinning him to the couch to grab his ugly T-shirt collar, shaking him hard.

“She’s more than that, Zoro!” I growled, right up in his face so he got the message. “You even said she’d be the most powerful being ever—what happened to that?!”

“Our _real_ ki— _AGH!”_ He choked when I dug fingers into his throat for good measure. “Not some—pile of shitty pancake mix—”

He did his best to cough in my face and wrestle me off him, but I’d jumped fully onto the couch to straddle him, my monstrous strength able to hold him down with minimal effort. He didn’t seem to be fighting back _that_ hard, but still, I counted it as a victory nonetheless.

“Pancake mix…” I heard Mr. Shanks mutter to himself behind me, but I ignored it in favor of trying to shove a throw pillow over Zoro’s face because _fuck,_ did his breath ever stink.

Until, that is, Mr. Shanks inhaled sharply and let out a quieter, “Ohhh….” that sounded to be….in realization....

And there was something about his tone…

Zoro and I both seemed to pause our fight at the same time, Zoro pushing up to his elbows as I swiveled myself around to spare the guy a glance.

Mr. Shanks was leaning forward, staring hard at a point on the ornately patterned rug beneath his feet, brow furrowed hard and a finger tapping at his lips before he sat up.

“Y’know, I thought that flour had weird packaging…” he said, and then his eyes turned up to meet his husband’s guiltily, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

A sinking feeling dropped in my gut in the silence that followed, Mr. Dracule taking a long moment to blink his creepy golden eyes at the other man’s stupid expression (which looked far too much like one his son would make).

And then Mr. Dracule sighed heavily, lifting a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“Son, it appears you ingested your daughter for breakfast,” he stated. “Case closed, I’m afraid.”

“Huh?” Zoro replied, predictably clueless, and I felt my heart begin to knock harder when Mr. Shanks got up and shuffled his way to the kitchen, my eyes following him the whole way until he disappeared from view.

A minute of rummaging sounds, the dread in my stomach growing more palpable by the second, and then he returned, carrying, to my absolute horror, the desecrated remains of our beautiful baby girl. Her flattened corpse was void of all contents, nothing but a limp flap of paper ready to be whisked away in the next breeze, any fullness to her cheeks now crumpled and gaunt.

Zoro inhaled sharply beneath me, murmured, “Oh, shit…”

It was barbaric, grotesque, and I could do nothing but stare in shock, unable to tear my eyes away.

Mr. Shanks was doing his best to plump her back up into some sort of shape, but hell if shaking her dead body around was doing shit.

“I mean,” he muttered. “Get some sand in there, staple her up again. Good as new.”

The false cheer in his voice said it all though, and all of us certainly felt it, particularly when Mr. Dracule let out another sigh and uncrossed his legs to stand with his glass of wine.

He walked to his husband, who met his eye and asked, “Did I fuck up?”

Mr. Dracule simply nodded, and replied, “Royally so, yes. However, this is certainly a step up from the boiling water incident.”

The two of them instantly flicked eyes to Zoro then, who was clearly still processing the scene with the little comprehensive power he had, possibly due to some ridiculous events in his past, particularly when Mr. Shanks screeched, “Oh, come on! That was one time! And he was way too young to remember!”

“I cannot say it hasn’t had lasting effects…” Mr. Dracule confirmed as he slid past his husband, a hand patting at his shoulder in an attempt at comfort before the tall man disappeared from the room and into the shadows once more.

I felt Zoro’s gaze shift to me, but I didn’t return it. I couldn’t, not when our very real impending failure of this project had begun to sink its ugly weight onto my shoulders.

I found myself climbing off of Zoro silently, getting to my feet and moving over to take our daughter from Mr. Shanks, my eyes falling dully onto her lifeless form.

Mr. Shanks’ hand plopped into my hair, giving a ruffle that might have made me crack a grin or at least a roll of eyes any other time, but I couldn’t manage one in that moment.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it was for your project.”

I knew he was sincere. The guy was an idiot, but he wasn’t an asshole.

I could only shake my head though, mutter back, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Shanks.”

And then I couldn’t stay in the room any longer, not when Zoro was still watching me.

I couldn’t throw all the blame onto Zoro or his dad. As her parent, this was half my fault…

So I clutched her floppy body to my chest and slunk from the room.

* * *

I sat outside for a while, the sun beaming down, almost mockingly bright, when it seemed so damn content to disappear every time I entered Zoro’s house. And now it shone its warm light on the small mound of dirt before me, the rocks I arranged and balanced around it somehow managing to glisten with their flecks of iridescence, even amidst the gray.

This wasn’t nearly good enough for our _daughter’s_ grave, this barren patch of earth amidst the weeds and overgrown grass taking over Zoro’s backyard, even if the perpetual shadow of his gothic house seemed to be lifting, if only for that moment.

I placed a few more rocks as artistically as I could manage, fanning them out from the mound in a dotted pattern, and I grabbed up a nearby stick.

 _‘Camille,’_ I scrawled in the dirt, in the best cursive I could manage, followed by the chronology of her life: _‘Yesterday to Today.’_

So short. So tragic. So horrible that I could only crouch there, pulling knees up to my chest, imagining what should have been but was never to be.

No first steps, no graduations. Certainly no wedding. Zoro’s plodding neanderthal footsteps would never walk her down the aisle, and fuck if I wanted them to, with the way I heard him shuffling up to me then through the grass, his clumsy hesitance glaringly apparent, even though I didn’t turn to look at him when I heard him stop a few paces away.

Silence followed, but I was too grief-stricken to pick up on its awkwardness, and maybe I wanted to draw it out, secretly. Just to make Zoro suffer as much as I was.

“My dad says he really is sorry… He’ll give us twenty bucks to make up for it,” he eventually mumbled, and yes, the discomfort in his tone certainly spoke to his own guilt. Good. Let him feel guilty.

I merely let out a miserable noise in reply, burying my lips against my arms on my knees.

“And he’ll let us have a beer,” Zoro tried.

Ugh. Gross.

I made an even more miserable noise. If I sounded like a dying cow, so be it. I felt like one.

Zoro sighed and though I heard him start to come closer, I didn’t take my eyes off our dead daughter’s grave. I hoped he’d had the common sense to borrow some medieval mourning garb from his father at least.

“What are you so worried about, Curly?” he mumbled, and when the leg of his ratty jeans came into my peripheral, I knew I’d been naive to expect any form of respect from the idiot. “Let’s just go to the store and get another and pretend it never happened.”

I scoffed. As if it were that easy.

“You can’t replace a child that easily,” I finally replied, not lifting my head one bit. I would drag the mosshead down into the abyss of my self-pity if I had to. “Ms. Laki isn’t stupid anyway. She’ll be able to tell.”

I practically heard Zoro roll his eyes along with the huff of breath that escaped him, but after a moment, he settled down beside me, crossing legs and hunching over with the terrible posture I knew would leave him bent at a ninety degree angle when he grew old.

I stayed silent as I noticed him reach out to pull a few more rocks up from the dirt, set them around the grave as well. Then he clapped hands together twice and bowed his head to pray like some sort of monk at a shrine.

As if his performative prayers meant anything. I knew the guy was a rampaging atheist. I didn’t know what he was pulling the fake reverence for. If it was to make me feel better, it sure as hell wasn’t working….and if it was to make fun of me…

I had to curse myself inwardly because, fuck, stupid insecurities had started to flare within my chest, that horrible, but familiar feeling of loneliness that I’d come to know so well, particularly since my sister had left for college.

Had this whole thing been on purpose? Had he pulled all this shit to sabotage me? I still couldn’t fathom why he’d been _so_ damn adamant about working with me.

Maybe we were friends….I hoped, as hard as it was to admit out loud. But I knew we weren’t friends in the way he was with Ace. Or Luffy. They’d been friends for years… I’d only just shown up a few months ago.

Zoro had just….been the first person I’d latched onto at that stupid new school… He’d seemed like an easy target, a loner who didn’t care what other people thought, didn’t judge… It had been easier to slide in with him and his weird-ass friends than to try and force myself in with the popular kids.

That was an end goal, sure….but one that seemed less and less urgent the more hanging out with Zoro started to become less of a social facade and more of a….desire, I guess.

He could be cool….when he wanted to be.

So I hated it. I hated that it had fucking started to hurt a little. To think that maybe we _hadn’t_ become real friends, that he was just like every other fickle high schooler….

Maybe he really had wanted to throw the new kid under the bus…

I’d kill him if that was true, but...then I’d really have no one…

My social life would be as dead as our daughter...

“Did you even want to work with me at all, Zoro?” I muttered out loud before I could stop myself, tracing patterns absently in the dirt with the stick I still held. “Or was I really just the best worst thing...?”

My heart thumped uncomfortably in the seconds it took Zoro to answer. I couldn’t look over at him, couldn’t bear to see him sneer or laugh at me.

I couldn’t bear to see my brothers’ faces on his…

But he surprised me, not only in his words, but in his tone. It was actually soft, sincere….a tone I wasn’t sure I’d heard from the idiot yet. Didn’t even think him capable of...

“I wanted to…” he said. “Rather someone I hang out with than a random person.”

Still, I found myself sighing. So he’d chosen me for ease. I couldn’t say I blamed him, but for some reason, I wanted there to be more to it. Stupid really, considering the mosshead was about as emotional or sentimental as the pile of dirt in front of us.

He surprised me again though, when his tone actually seemed to darken, started to mirror how I felt, and that was _weird_ because since when was _Zoro_ insecure or uncertain of anything? The guy gave zero fucks about anything at any given moment. It was something I couldn’t help but envy sometimes...

 _“You_ didn’t want to work with _me…”_ he mumbled quietly, almost sounding defeated, and though, for some reason, the claws of self-doubt in my stomach had turned to butterflies, I still couldn’t bring myself to look over at him just yet.

I still feared the insincerity I might see in his eyes.

“I just...wanted to do this project _right…”_ I settled for, and that was also true, but it was for reasons I couldn’t tell him. Not fully at least.

Yeah, he knew… About my mom…. I’d told him in passing. But that was as deep as we’d gotten. He hadn’t asked questions, and I hadn’t elaborated.

I couldn’t tell him everything. He’d think it was dumb and annoying… Right?

“Yeah, well…” he started, then trailed off, and despite my inner resistance, I finally found my eyes drifting over to him.

He was sitting there, hunched over like I’d envisioned, his fingers picking absently at the frayed laces of his combat boots. The sun was tinting his cheeks pink, his gaze staying firmly down.

“You weren’t the best worst thing or whatever,” he finally continued after a few moments. His voice was quiet, embarrassed, and he shrugged. “I knew you’d be the best dad in the class. Better than those other idiots who’d treat it like some joke…”

My heart clenched, and it was fucking _weird._ Again. I hadn’t expected him to say something like that. Was he lying? He couldn’t be. The idiot was incapable of it. I knew firsthand.

I had to diffuse the strange tension in my chest _somehow._

“You’re one of them…” I shot back, though it came out way more half-hearted than I would have hoped. But an insult was an insult.

“Still rather it be you…”

An insult was an insult, but what was _that?_ What was he getting at, and why had his eyes finally chosen that moment to flick to me?

Why me? I didn’t get it. I was pretty sure he wasn’t like this with his other friends. Why couldn’t we just go back to arguing? I would have rather bashed his head in tenfold over the death of our daughter than listen to these soft words, see the vulnerability that had started to peer out from the cracks of the fractured skull I intended to give him.

I looked away before his eyes could shatter my own carefully constructed armor.

“I don’t know the first thing about good parenting, Zoro,” I said, trying not to sound _sulky,_ but I wasn’t sure how well it worked out. “You’ve had consistent examples at least…”

“What about your grandpa?” he asked, and I shrugged.

“He’s….one thing, but...it’s not the same.”

And it wasn’t. He wasn’t my mom. He was close to a dad, but still not the one I’d always wanted, and besides...

“I just wanted to…”

But I couldn’t finish. Not with Zoro looking at me like that. Like he was focusing every cell in his tiny brain on trying to understand my stupid overactive mind.

“Wanted to what…?” he asked, nearly squinting at this point.

Was I that hard to read? I mean, Zoro could barely read in general, but I thought I was pretty damn obvious with my feelings usually. Yet, the dumbass was taking three years to decipher shit.

“Nothing…” I grumbled, knowing it wasn’t worth making his head explode.

But for some annoying reason, he pressed on.

“What?”

“It’s stupid,” I insisted, shaking my head and pulling my knees close again. “It’s just a dumb project.”

 _“You’re_ stupid,” he shot back, stubborn as ever. “Tell me.”

I wanted to scream. Implode. _Something._ Anything so I wouldn’t have to admit to the cheesy shit that he definitely wouldn’t get. No one ever did. That was why I didn’t open up about this shit.

There was no way Zoro, with his complete family, and his stable friends, and his fucking _strength…_ No way he could understand the weakness of someone who just wanted their mom back, more than anything…

So why did I answer him…?

“I just thought maybe I could do her a little proud, y’know…?”

The words spilled out, and I didn’t want to admit why. I didn’t want to admit that I _wanted_ someone to understand. And not just someone…. _Him._ Zoro specifically. 

Why…?

My face felt ready to explode with heat, enough that I hid it in my arms again, turned my head away completely and waited for what I was certain would come.

And, sure enough, it happened, the snickering I’d expected, quiet, but there nonetheless.

“What are you laughing at?” I mumbled, mortified.

“I was right. You _are_ stupid,” he replied.

I’d known it. Of course he’d say that. The blunt fucker…

It hurt way more than it should have, and I was about to push up to my feet and just go home when he said, “You don’t need a sack of flour to prove shit to her.”

What…?

My breath caught, and I had to try really fucking hard to let it out in a way he wouldn’t notice, but what the _fuck_ was that?

What the fuck was he doing, sounding like that? Like he actually fucking cared? His usual ferocity was there, but there was something different, like he was really sitting there trying to comfort me for real, and what the _fuck?_

I turned my head, and I hated that I did, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I had to see the look on his face for myself, had to see that fucking endearing expression, particularly when he looked me right in the eye seriously and said, “You’re already who she’d want you to be.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Stop.”

I said it immediately before my heart could fucking beat out of my chest, before I could grab him and fucking—I don’t even know. Probably kick his ass or maybe even—no. Fuck no. Not that.

“Stop what?” he replied, as if he didn’t _know_ what he was doing.

“Stop being weird!” I insisted hastily, because I was sure he could hear my hammering heart himself. “It’s weird!”

“I’m not being weird!” he shot back, that softness to his expression thankfully disappearing from his face, replaced by his more typical scowl. _“You’re_ being weird, and I dunno what to say!”

Why was I grinning? Why was I fucking _smiling_ now? Ugh!

“Look, let’s just drop it,” I said, dragging a hand over my mouth to try and wipe away the evidence of the stupid giddy elation coursing through me. “I’ll write an extra long paper or something, tell Ms. Laki what went down, and hope for the best.”

“You think she’ll accept a _paper?”_ he replied skeptically.

“She will if I write it.”

And then he smirked, and no. No more of this weird-ass shit assaulting my chest just because he was sitting there being amiable for once. Maybe he’d managed to distract me thoroughly from the death of our child, but no. I needed to fucking breathe, thanks.

So I drew one last heart in the dirt beside Camille’s name, then got to my feet, not bothering to offer a hand to Zoro as he followed suit.

“Do you have a shift tonight?” he asked as I started to make my way back towards the towering turrets of the looming house.

“Nah.”

“Wanna stay for dinner?” he asked.

“You just want me to cook for you,” I guessed, and thank fuck he simply nodded and shrugged because if he’d come at me with some sappy bullshit again, I might have had to finally kill him.

I huffed for show and muttered, “Fine. I’ll text my grandpa.”

He nodded again, catching up to me and pulling ahead to step up onto the creaky back porch first.

And it was yet another fucking mystery why I stopped and watched him for a good long minute, why I mumbled, “Hey, Zoro…” as quietly as I did until he turned back around to look at me.

I hadn’t had anything planned to say, and he seemed to realize this, but he didn’t look away, merely watched me for a questioning moment.

Or maybe it was an hour. Hell if I know.

All I did know was that I eventually said, “Nevermind,” and headed up the porch steps to join him.

Zoro yanked open the back door with some effort, displacing a flurry of dusty moths near the hanging lantern beside it, even though it was fucking daytime.

Any other time it would have freaked me out, but I guess I was growing pretty used to the swarm fluttering similarly through my stomach.

* * *

* * *

* * *

“She needed surgery.”

“Organ transplants— _Right?” ___

__

Zoro’s voice lowered to a whisper, his eyes flicking to the blond beside him, both teens standing nervously in front of their teacher’s desk.

__

Sanji nodded, smile growing faker and more desperate by the minute. He didn’t take his eyes off the woman seated behind the desk, long ponytail thrown over her shoulder as she scanned through the pages of the essay she held.

__

Sanji elbowed the other teen, urging him to keep talking when he paused, clearly trying to remember the script they’d planned the night before.

__

“But we didn’t have—” Zoro continued, glancing to Sanji again, who subtly mouthed the next words to him. “—Health insurance?” Zoro guessed, letting out a breath of relief when Sanji gave an approving nod again. “I mean, we’re teenage parents, so—”

__

“Yeah,” the blond cut in, taking matters into his own hands considering the difficulty his partner was having. “And our friend doesn’t have a medical degree or anything. Not yet at least. It was kind of some back alley shi—stuff.”

__

Of course, there was no reason to say any of this to Ms. Laki, as the very evidence of their misfortune sat plopped on her desk, a horrifying un-dead version of the flour sack the two had been tasked with a mere two weeks ago, now dirty, stitched and stapled together in a lopsided imitation of its former image.

__

And their attempt at salvaging what might have become of their project grade otherwise now rested in essay form between Ms. Laki’s lithe fingers.

__

The woman sighed, her dark eyes falling on the mutilated flour sack for a brief moment before her gaze finally lifted to the two boys.

__

“Well,” she said. “As much as it could have done without the profanity, Mr. Vinsmoke, I have to say it was a rather entertaining read.”

__

Neither Zoro nor Sanji could conceal the grins of absolute relief that split their faces as Ms. Laki continued.

__

“It was very...revealing…” she mused, setting the paper down, a slight quirk of her brow and a tilt of lips the only indicator of any potential deeper meaning. “You somehow managed to detail the challenges and responsibilities that come with a project like this, just as I’d hoped, among….other things.”

__

“So did we pass?” Zoro asked immediately, and the moment that followed was tense, Ms. Laki surveying the two for a moment before she picked up her red pen and lifted it to the header of the paper.

__

“A-Minus,” she said, scrawling the letter grade at the top with a flourish before swiveling the paper and sliding it across the desk towards them. “Just make sure your dad doesn’t cook your real child down the line.”

__

“We wouldn’t—” Zoro started to say, but Sanji’s elbow jabbing him hard in the side shut him up.

__

“Thank you, Ms. Laki,” crooned the blond, quickly snatching back the essay and their zombie-fied child, holding both close to his chest. “You are so kind, so generous, quite obviously the best teacher in the school. We will certainly raise Camille Sword Jr. to lead a life as tolerant and philanthropic as yours—”

__

“And now you’re pushing it,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “Just go home, you two…”

__

“Right!” Sanji agreed, two fingers saluting, just as Zoro grabbed his arm and dragged him back through the rows of desks towards the door, perhaps crashing him into chairs on purpose, particularly when the blond began to blow kisses into the mix.

__

But by the time the two made it into the hallway, the classroom door swinging shut behind them, they were both snickering madly, with the confidence of two criminals who’d just gotten away with a crime.

__

“Can’t believe she bought it,” Zoro said.

__

“Shut up,” Sanji hissed back, though he was grinning just as wide. “Wait till we’re down the hall at least.” And he shoved the mosshead through the thinning throngs of students away from the home ec room.

__

It was only when they reached the far end of the hallway, near the stairwell, that the two finally let themselves laugh properly, sharing a few elated shoves and hair ruffles.

__

“A fucking A-Minus! What the hell did you write?” Zoro finally asked, still smiling like a fool. “She was fucking loving it.”

__

“Told you I’m good,” Sanji replied confidently. “I just blamed it on your dad like I told you. With quite a few embellishments.”

__

“Can I read it?”

__

Zoro’s hand reached out for the paper, but Sanji was quick to hold it out of reach, already shifting his backpack around so he could tuck it and their daughter safely away.

__

“Nope!” the blond chirped. “My genius is for her beautiful eyes only~”

__

“Right. Genius.” Zoro rolled his eyes. “This was your fault to begin with.”

__

“She gave us _flour,_ Zoro,” Sanji shot back as he zipped up his backpack. “Flour! I’m a chef, and there were pancakes to be made! I cannot and will not let perfectly good ingredients go to waste! I oughta snatch the kids from everyone in the class while I’m at it. That’s twenty loaves of bread at least!”

__

It didn’t matter to Zoro how many fucking loaves of bread he could make, so long as they passed the fucking course. Another semester of that nightmare just might have killed him.

__

“We can pay Law back for the surgery,” the mossheaded teen replied as they started walking again, finally making their way into the stairwell so they could get the fuck out of there for the weekend. Law would definitely not hate receiving several loaves of freshly baked bread as compensation.

__

He’d made it a few steps down when he glanced back over his shoulder at the blond following.

__

“The pancakes were good, by the way…” Zoro said.

__

Sanji’s steps faltered briefly, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He gaped for a moment, but quickly regained himself with a shake of his head.

__

“Wow, Zoro,” the blond replied sarcastically. “First time you’ve actually complimented me. You feeling okay?”

__

Zoro shrugged.

__

“Well, first time you got ‘em perfect, Curly. After fifty million tries.”

__

Then, with an evil grin, he turned to continue down the stairs.

__

It took Sanji a second, his heart doing an odd flip in his chest as he watched Zoro descend ahead of him.

__

But he soon followed, unable to keep a proud smile from tugging at his lips.

__

That pancake recipe had been his mother’s, after all...

* * *

**__**

**_~END~_ **

* * *


End file.
